


Once Upon a Time

by KasumiAFKGod



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Big Bang Challenge, M/M, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasumiAFKGod/pseuds/KasumiAFKGod
Summary: Gabriel Reyes was a simple blacksmith in a humble town earning an honest living, thank you very much. He most certainly did not deserve to get lost in the woods that have practically been his own backyard since he could walk. He most certainly did not deserve threats to his life by creatures he’d assumed all his existence to be mere myths and fabricated stories that he’d long outgrown.And he most certainly did not deserve the misfortune of falling in love with the Fae Prince of the Wildwood (as gorgeous as he is).





	

Curses slip past Gabriel’s tongue as his foot catches on another exposed tree root, almost sending him tumbling to the forest floor. Grabbling at the trunk of the stupid tree, the man steadies himself, trying for the fiftieth time to peer through the darkness for the path. Dense foliage blots out the sky, blocking the moonlight and draping the night’s inky cloak over every surface of the woods. A single, stubborn moonbeam fights it way through the lush canopy, a ray of silvery light piercing through the shadows and revealing a thin strip of bare, compressed ground where it gives way to grass.

 

Biting back another string of colourful swears that would have had his mother pinching his ear if she were alive to hear them, Gabriel soldiers on. Stretching out his hands in front of him, he stuck to what he could see of the path as he tread along it. The toes on his left foot still tingled from where he had rammed them against the base of a tree in his blind haste to get home and he did not like a repeat incident. 

 

Choosing to take the shortcut from the tavern back to his hut through the wildwoods was an ill-made decision, but heck if he was going to let Jesse McCree drive him back in that beaten up horse wagon of his, rank with the stench of manure and tobacco. Shoving the man’s cowboy hat down over McCree’s eyes, Gabriel had left on the excuse that he had work in the morning and no, he most certainly would not be needing assistance getting home. It was not too far from the truth; he’d yet to finish crafting Mako’s new meat hook and Reinhardt had sent in his old warhammer for regular maintenance after the retired veteran had complained its grip was getting loose again. 

 

Staying late at the tavern at all had been a bad decision, but he was hardly one to say no to Torbjorn’s offer for a night of free drinks at his bar. At least the mead and whiskey provided him with some degree of warmth, warding off the chill of the rapidly dropping temperature of the woods. Nights are cold here in the valley, even now in the late summer. He idly wondered if Mako’s wool harvest will go better this year. This year’s winter would be brutal.

 

Something cuts across his cheek, just beneath his right eye. The expletives that stream from his mouth sends a nearby pair of birds flying away in alarm as his fingers reach up to his face. The stray branch that was the culprit snags the back of his hand. He flicks it away irritably, a sharp snap of cracking wood echoing through the silence like a thunderclap. His fingers find the shallow gash over his cheekbone, coming away wet though he couldn’t see the blood.

 

He is just about to grumble again when a movement in the distance catches his eye.

 

A flickering mote of blue flame winks into existence, its soft glow casting pale periwinkle light on the surrounding vegetation. It lingers in the air without any visible means of support or even sustainability, a mere stone’s throw away. Gabriel stares, unblinking, wondering if maybe he had one too many of Torbjorn’s whiskeys, but the little fire ball doesn’t leave.

 

Gabriel knows the myths about will-o'-the-wisps, the spectral lights that led travellers astray or to their deaths. He’s heard enough stories of entranced men, women, and children following the glowing lights into the thickest forests and never seen again. He watches warily, not moving from his spot. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s being stared at right back, despite the wisp not having any visible eyes. It shifts through the air in tiny movements, drifting back and forth as if idly waiting for something.

 

The more rational part of Gabriel is telling him to turn around and walk away, that the sight of a mysterious ball of floating light has to be a sign on him having too much to drink or the low light of the woods playing tricks on his eyes. But he feels a pull towards the wisp, as if inexplicably drawn. A moth to a flame. He steps closer, approaching cautiously as if expecting to be pounced on. He startles when it blinks out of existence, hands jerking up to protect himself, only for it to reappear a yards further away, its ghostly light visible through the trees. He hears a distant, almost inaudible murmur, like a gibberish whisper carried by the breeze.

 

A stray memory of Hanzo’s many warnings crosses his mind, of wisp lights and fae tricks that Gabriel always written off as fantastical superstitions by the strange man. But the wisp illuminates the pathway he’s following, its winding body now made clearly visible from the soft glow. Gabriel stares at it a moment longer and shrugs. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to follow a supposedly mythical being, but as long as he could see the path, what was the harm? The path only led to his home, after all. If it went astray and into the woods, it was a simple matter of not following it. He wasn’t an idiot. Staying lost in the forest hardly seemed like a better option.

 

Besides, if this all really did turn out to be some alcohol-induced dream, the worst that would happen is that he would wake up face-down on the ground the next morning covered in dew and insect bites and freezing his pants off.

 

He follows the wisp through the wildwood, the mote of flame guiding him, always on the path. No more stray roots bother him, nor do any more low branches scratch at his skin. In fact, he can even feel the air grow progressively warmer, as if it were midday with the sun above his head. He frowns, glancing around the forest but seeing nothing amiss. Strange.

 

It is then he realises that he should have reached his house quite some time ago.

 

“Where the hell is this place?”

 

He grinds to a halt as his heart kicks into overdrive, blood pounding in his ears as he checks his surroundings again. The wisp is still ahead of him, still lighting his path, stopping when he had. How long had he been walking? Were the trees always that tall? The forest that dark? Moonlight used to break through several empty spots in the canopy but now Gabriel is sure that without the gentle glow of the wisp he wouldn’t be able to see his own hand in front of his face.

 

So much for not being an idiot.

 

Running a hand through his hair during a lull in his cursing, Gabriel yanks at the black curls, threatening to pull them at the roots. He glares at the wisp as if he could cause it harm. It merely pulses once, a faint tinkle in the breeze that sounds almost like giggling reaches his ears. It resonates through the wood, quiet now that Gabriel is not trudging across the forest floor. In the newfound silence, he hears it.

 

Music.

 

Gabriel spins around, arms outstretched on either side as he tries to pinpoint the location of the distant thrum of instruments. The song weaves images to his mind’s eye, calling forth pleasant memories of his younger years; bantering with his mother as they harvested produce from the farm, his father teaching him to smelt ore and work the bellows, the three of them having dinner together after a full day’s work, the scent of his favourite grilled fish wafting through the air.

 

Without warning, the wisp darts away and deeper into the woods, leaving a blazing trail of fading light in its wake.

 

“Hey, stop!” Gabe calls out, cringing when the words came out louder than intended. He hurries after the wisp, not liking that he didn’t know where it is leading him, but not wanting to be left alone in the pitch darkness either.

 

Moving faster now, the wisp weaves and twists between the trees. Gabriel sometimes loses sight of it altogether only to see its light peek out briefly from behind a dark trunk. He keeps up the best he can, grasping at the roughened surfaces of peeling bark, paranoid of tripping over a stray root or fallen branch and getting left behind. The music waxes stronger the deeper they traverse into what must be the very heart of the woods. A few more feet and he can discern warm golden light from beyond a line of trees several yards away, where the music is coming from. The wisp slows down and vanishes into thin air moments later, but Gabriel lets it go. 

 

Approaching the source of the light and music with slow steps, Gabriel’s eyes scan the area, every sense on high alert. Along with the music Gabriel can still make out the gentle rustling of the treetops, but also the ambient sounds of laughter and rhythmic clapping. He frowns, brows furrowing together. He’d lived in the valley all his life and knows that the nearest town to theirs is a full day’s journey on horseback. He’d never heard of anyone living in the woods.

 

Muscles tensed to turn and flee at a moment’s notice, Gabriel creeps closer, stepping behind a suitably large tree and peering around it.

 

He freezes as if shot, stunned at the sight before him.

 

Beyond the shadow of the trees, the wood gives way to a glade so wide it could easily fit his entire house and farm twice over. Moonlight shines uninhibited onto the lush grass, streaming in where the forest canopy opened up to the sky. Balls of condensed, glowing warm light like miniature suns hover a few feet over the ground further illuminate the glade, lighting up the place almost as brightly as if it were daytime. A pond resides at the very centre, droplets of water rising from the clear surface to dance through the air like living diamonds before falling back in gentle splashes.

 

Surrounding the pond are an array of what Gabriel assumes are musical instruments, each played by an assortment of otherworldly people. They range from tiny pixies no bigger than his thumb, sitting on spotted red toadstools and chiming tiny bells to elegant maidens with silvery hair and delicate hands strumming golden harps. Stout, bearded men play at ivory lutes, the one with the bushiest eyebrows at a fiddle. A faun with skin as dark as his own and russet brown goats legs instead of normal humans ones is seated behind a massive set of trumpets. There is no conductor, not one that Gabriel can see, but their songs blend together and meld into one in seamless harmony.

 

But most incredible of all are the dancers.

 

Colours and shapes in all variants imaginable flash before his eyes, like an ever-turning kaleidoscope. Partners twirl, skip, hop, and clap, each pair seeming to have their own routine and some switching partners at seemingly random intervals. 

 

Even the dancing partners appear oddly matched; from where he stands several yards away, he can see a tall, willowy woman with impossibly slender limbs stooping over her partner who was so short he would barely brush Gabriel’s thigh, though his beard is long enough that it trails along the ground like a train. A ways off is a young girl skipping in circles around a man who could be her father, judging by the matching stormy fur on their lupine arms and legs. A literal giant of an portly man standing at over eight feet tall moves with surprising agility to match the grace of his partner, a centaur with chopped ginger hair and dapple grey coat. There appears to be no logic to the timing of switching partners or the chaos of different dance styles, but there is an odd sense of rhythm, flow. Gabriel finds that he can’t look away.

 

Faes. Faes in the wildwoods.  _ Real _ . Gabriel reminds himself to breathe, sucking a gulp of air into his burning lungs. His eyes never leave the scene as he stands frozen in place, observing the faerie folk merry make, dimly aware that he is witnessing the manifestation of dozens of childhood bedtime stories.

 

He tenses when the music ceases, the final notes fading away as the unorthodox orchestra puts down their instruments. The dancing grinds to a halt as the dancers stop. Moving as one, they part, forming an empty space from one end of the glade to the other. There is a procession at the far end, Gabriel realises. If two people could be called a procession.

 

A woman with chestnut skin and ebony hair stands to the side, dressed in what looks like wooden armour complete with thick, winding branches and brilliant autumn foliage at her back that almost resemble wings. A dryad of some kind. Her features are severe, gaze sharp as she stares straight ahead. A black marking swirls under her right eye like a tattoo. Maybe a symbol of sort? It’s too difficult to see from this far away.

 

By her side is a great, white stag. It is a magnificent creature, larger than any stag Gabriel had ever seen and with a coat so pure white as to appear almost silver. Each of its antlers are longer than Gabriel’s arm, the elegant prongs twisting and curling between themselves in an symmetrical lattice pattern. Its shining black hooves make no sound with each step, barely even disturbing the grass. A pale hand reaches out to stroke its gleaming neck, and that’s when Gabriel realises the stag is carrying someone.

 

A shock of colour greets his eyes as he drags them up at the stag’s rider. Hair like spun gold flutters in the breeze of his passing, a crown of dark twigs and indigo leaves resting on the cropped locks. His frame is strong like Gabriel’s, broad shoulders supporting a thick cloak of deep blue velvet long enough to drape over the stag’s hindquarters. Turquoise leggings encase muscular legs dangling on either side of the stag, no saddle in sight. He wears no shoes, leaving his feet bare.

 

Gabriel watches as the man guides the stag leisurely through the space in the gathering with the dryad keeping pace by his side, nodding his head in greeting to some of the dancers who smile and bow. The rest watch in respectful silence. Was he someone important? Eyebrows knitting together in a slight frown, Gabriel leans further out from behind his tree to get a clearer view. He doesn’t look much different than an ordinary human. Gabriel wouldn’t have thought of him as a fae if it wasn’t for the pointed tips of his ears.

 

The dryad comes to a stop at the other end of the glade, the stag stopping with her despite having no bridle to guide it. They are closer to him now, Gabriel able to make out a bit more detail like the blue of the stag-rider’s eyes and how the wooden armour seemed melded to the dryad’s body, as if it was a part of her. Nobody seemed to have noticed his presence yet, and he preferred to keep it that way. 

 

The man dismounts, tilting his head back to look up at the great willow tree marking the end of the glade. Gabriel supposed he was too engrossed in the dancers to notice it until now. It is huge, the trunk spanning at least three times wider than his own house, bark cracked and weathered. Its leaves are thick and plentiful, bushy ropes of olive green hanging down like rain. Roots as broad as Reinhardt’s entire body sprout from the base of the trunk, venturing a few feet down before disappearing into the moss and earth. 

 

Unclasping the cloak, the golden-haired fae shrugs it off his broad shoulders and exposes his wings.

 

Fan-like and translucent like a butterfly’s, the azure wings are almost as tall as their owner and nearly as wide. Gold and white filigree patterns thread through the blue like veins on a leaf, the tiny scales shimmering with every slight movement. The wings stutter twice, as if relieved to be free of the cloak. Without the garment, Gabriel can see the fae’s sky blue tunic, the collar upturned and lack of sleeves revealing toned arms. Gold embroidery runs along the edges of the tunic and buttonholes, a navy blue rose resting over his left collar. An odd garment like the bottom of a tailcoat is attached to him by a belt around his waist, the same blue as the tunic.

 

The fae steps up onto an exposed tree root, then ascends to the next, leaving the stag and the dryad by the base. Looking closer, Gabriel can see a series of smaller roots winding around the largest ones to form a series of makeshift stairs. At the top, at the base of the colossal trunk and seemingly grown out of the wood itself, is an elaborate chair with ornate backing and live wildflowers. If Gabriel didn’t know any better, he would have said it was a throne.

 

Turning at the top, the butterfly-winged fae flashes a beatific smile as he inclines his head to the faes in the glade. The faerie lights seem to play on his eyes, and Gabriel is struck by just how blue they are—like the clear sky on a mid-summer’s day.

 

The fae settles down into the chair, and Gabriel is almost positive that he must be royalty of some sort among the fae when a movement by the man’s right draws his attention.

 

Before his eyes, the silhouette of a hunched woman materialises from the bark, as if breaking free from inside the tree. The form grows more defined, and Gabriel can make out the wrinkles on an aged face and a mark beneath her left eye similar to the severe-looking dryad’s, the other one covered by a crooked strip of black fabric. Bark rapidly transitions into skin, though it remains the same brown as the bark, while white seeps into her braided hair until it is like snow. In a matter of seconds, Gabriel sees himself staring at an elderly woman who could have been Reinhardt’s age, a deep blue cloak wrapped around her form. 

 

Gabriel swallows, heart hammering in his throat. If it weren’t for the stray leaves twirling in the air around her despite the lack of breeze, he wouldn’t would have been able to tell that she had stepped out from a god forsaken  _ tree _ .

 

These were the fae folk, the beings who were only supposed to exist in myths and legends and bedtime stories. He shouldn’t be here, even if it was just a dream.

 

Turning around, Gabriel curses under his breath for the fifty-third time that evening. What the hell is he doing, sitting on his haunches and gaping like a starry-eyed toddler? Better to be lost in the woods than to fall prey to—

 

“Step into my parlour,” purrs a voice in his ear, warm breath ghosting over cartilage.

 

Whirling around as if he’d been burned, Gabriel leaps away, hand flying to the dagger he always kept hidden within his boot.

 

“Who the  _ fuck _ are you?” he demands, drawing the blade in a flash. As he looked upon the person who had startled him, he thought that a better question to ask would have  _ what _ the  _ fuck  _ was  _ it _ .

 

Standing before him is a woman, or at least, something that closely resembled one. Midnight blue hair hangs down to the small of her back, straight and shining like ink. Soft lilac hugs an hourglass figure like a second skin, the material reminiscent of flower petals. The plunging neckline exposes most of her neck and shoulders, even the cleavage of her full breasts, the dress coming down to her ankles. The long slit down the sides puts her smooth legs on full display. Her face could have been the work of a master painter, with tall, shapely cheekbones, plump lips, and burning amber eyes. 

 

Gabriel would have called her beautiful, if it weren’t for the fact that the human similarities ended there.

 

Her skin is unnaturally pale lavender, almost turquoise in the light of the moon. Slender arms tapered down to delicate wrists, where the lavender bled into indigo. Instead of fingers, the woman has talons; each digit pointed, curved, and deadly. A pair of gleaming black horns twist out of her skull around her temples, the arch of them unnervingly graceful and ending in pointed tips behind her head. A serpentine tail trails behind her, the same colour as her skin. Most prominent of all however are the wings.

 

Huge, bat-like, leathery membrane as dark as the dusky evening sky. They are currently folded primly behind her back but Gabriel is sure that if she flared them, they would span at least twelve feet across.

 

He’s heard the stories. There’s no mistaking what she is.

 

She smiles, a deceptively coy one that lifts the corners of her lips. “Me? Why, no one of importance.”

 

“Stay away,  _ succubus _ ,” he curses, tightening his grip on the dagger. “Or I’ll—”

 

“Pray tell, what  _ will _ you do, exactly?” The succubus laughs delicately behind a hand, though the effect is ruined somewhat by the glinting talons. “Prick my finger with that plaything?”

 

Gabriel licks his lips. His heart hammers away within his chest, the blood pounding in his ears. His every sense screams to fight or flee, his most basal instincts recognising the being in front of him as a fatal threat. “Maybe,” he drawls. “Though with iron like this, I don’t think I’d need to draw blood to have you writhing on the ground in pain.”

 

The succubus pauses, and Gabriel triumphantly gleans the bit of hesitation in her eyes before she coolly tamps it down. Cold iron, said to burn faes upon mere contact with their skin. In truth, the dagger was steel, though the succubus doesn’t need to know that. If he could threaten her into keeping her distance, he should be able to make his getaway with relative ease. Then maybe consider crafting a whole slew of iron weapons once he got back.

 

“ _ Si vulgaire _ ,” croons the succubus, smile curling wider. She steps forwards on long legs, slender like a gazelle’s. “You are a feisty one, are you not?”

 

He grins, making sure to bare his teeth as he reciprocates a step back. All the while, he keeps watchful eyes on her, observing the tiniest of movement. With claws like those, she could gouge his eyes out with a single swipe if she so desired. 

 

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you—”

 

“Amelie!”

 

The predatory look on the succubus’s face transforms into irritation, the fae looking at something over Gabriel’s shoulder in the direction of the glade. Gabriel turns halfway and glances over, unwilling to expose his back to either potential dangers.

 

The severe-looking dryad had broken away from the crowd, bearing down on them quickly on wings of wood and leaves. They rustle and creak, the red, orange, and golden leaves giving the appearance of flames at her back. Up close, the earthy tones of her eyes are apparent, framed by thick black lashes.

 

“Amelie,” says the dryad again, features arranged into a sharp frown, “why are you—” She pauses, alighting a few paces away from Gabriel and staring at him like he was something foul stuck to her finger. “Who on earth is this?”

 

“A human mortal,” says the succubus, Amelie, drawing herself up to her full height and scoffing. “Has your…  _ promotion _ brought your head so high up in the clouds that you fail to see what is obviously in front of you, or is it simply your inexperience that blinds you?”

 

A twitch on her lips is the only indication that the dryad is affected by that at all, before she turns her harsh gaze to look at Gabriel in the eye.

 

“How did you come here?” she demands. “Who brought you?”

 

“Does it matter?” retorts Amelie before Gabriel can respond, lips curling unpleasantly as she fixes Gabriel with a look he doesn’t like. “He won’t be making it back out.”

 

The dryad’s eyes flash briefly back to Amelie. “No, absolutely not. Do not forget that you are only here out of the goodness of the Prince’s heart and if it were not for that—”

 

“No one will miss him, lost little lamb in the woods,” continues Amelie as if the dryad had not spoken, advancing closer to Gabriel. He lifts the dagger threateningly. “Such a tantalising little snack, wandering so easily into my web….”

 

“What’s going on, here?”

 

Gabriel turns on his heel, knuckles almost white around his dagger—

  
And finding himself face to face with eyes blue like the summer sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, can't believe I'm finally rolling this out. Here we go, guys! A Fairy Tale AU very much inspired by Wildwood Dancing (which is in itself a loose adaptation of The Twelve Dancing Princesses). There's still quite a bit of story left to post and none of it has been edited yet but fear not, updates will be coming! I hope you like the story and will see you around again soon. :D
> 
> [Done for the Overwatch Big Bang]  
> [And NaNoWriMo]  
> [because I like torturing myself apparently]  
> [feel free to hit me up on Tumblr! I go by the same name]


End file.
